Timothy James Turnipseed
Bio
Timothy was raised on a farm in rural Mississippi. His experiences have since taken him all around the world. He now teaches at local university, where he urges his Students to Run the Race, Keep the faith, and Endure to the End
Stories (27/0)
Ciao Y'all!
Prologue: The Handoff “Con. Con? Con!” At the last shout from the heavily armored Soldier in the front passenger seat – a shout flavored with more than a hint of panic – the similarly armored driver shook himself to life and slammed on the brakes. That brought the Humvee to a gut-wrenching halt about an eyelash from the grubby little girl playing in the pockmarked street. In the side view mirrors, it was evident how the lead vehicle’s sudden stop had brought the whole military convoy to a shuddering halt.
By Timothy James Turnipseed8 months ago in Fiction
The Three Hogs
A humanoid, cased head to toe in blood red armor, stepped out of a tunnel and onto a flattened section of mountain. The figure’s helmet was stylized into the head of a wild Terran boar, complete with ears, snout, and wicked tusks. With both hands, the figure reached up and removed the porcine helm, revealing an older woman with a scarred, weathered face. She shook out her long, auburn but rapidly greying hair. With eyes closed, she inhaled deeply through her nose.
By Timothy James Turnipseed8 months ago in Fiction
Snowball
A man ambled down the darkened, claustrophobically narrow corridor stretched out before him. Constrained to single file, he followed the long-haired, nubile, scantily clad figure. As they approached what appeared to be a dead end, the wall ahead suddenly slid up into the ceiling with a faint hiss, and a brief gust blew in. The human mused that purified air was like purified water; they tasted “wrong” precisely because they were so unnatural.
By Timothy James Turnipseed11 months ago in Fiction
Phantom Drone Ends
After my arrest, I spent a long time face down on the parking lot with my hands handcuffed behind me. The pavement was wet from all the rain, but I was so thoroughly soaked I could feel only the hardness, not more water. Despite the season, the wind blew cold.
By Timothy James Turnipseedabout a year ago in Fiction
The Midnight Special
“Well--, you wake up in the mornin',” I sang aloud, “And you hear the work bell rang…” My thoughts had wandered back to the song I’d heard in a certain Vietnamese restaurant when it finally hit me that my boss and friend Malcolm Forbes was a traitor. It had been so transparently obvious, it shamed me not to have figured it out earlier.
By Timothy James Turnipseedabout a year ago in Fiction
Phantom Drone VIII
Yep, that was me, standing naked in a stranger’s suburban home because all my clothes, drenched from landing in their backyard pool, were currently in their dryer. The Phantom Drone was outside by that same pool, getting recharged via an external outlet.
By Timothy James Turnipseedabout a year ago in Fiction
Phantom Drone VII
Purple dawn brightened the sky as I soared into the heavens, alpine forest falling away, the Phantom Drone snug about my waist. The world tilted in the visor of my full-face motorcycle helmet while the ground scrolled like a treadmill. Frigid winds roared past my ears and plucked noisily at my heavy winter clothing. I’d been deprived of the drone for only a day, yet it seemed an age since I’d exulted in the joyous exhilaration of flight.
By Timothy James Turnipseedabout a year ago in Fiction
Phantom Drone VI
There, on a dark summer night chilled by alpine altitude, in a militarized compound right outside an ammunition storage bunker, my mind reeled. I could smell pine and dirt as well as taste the metallic tang of expended ammo on the breeze as I staggered. I’d been painfully struck, not just with the butt of a 12-gauge shotgun upside my head, but by the impact of the newsflash the man wielding said gun had just delivered.
By Timothy James Turnipseedabout a year ago in Fiction
Phanton Drone IV
With pain flaring in my lower right leg, I limped briskly back through the darkness, across a patch of forest toward the narrow road where a pickup waited. Even in my haste, I spared a glance up at the starry dome of the night; here in the middle of nowhere, its majesty was undiminished.
By Timothy James Turnipseedabout a year ago in Fiction
Phantom Drone III
I lay in bed, in a cold, dark room under a thin blanket. Something to the right of where I lay made a continuous, lowkey roar. It was one of those times when I knew I was waking up, but I didn’t feel like opening my eyes just yet.
By Timothy James Turnipseedabout a year ago in Fiction
